


Pawns

by TheLateNightStoryTeller



Category: Agents of SHIELD - Fandom
Genre: Alternate aftermath of the pod incident, Brought over from ff.net, F/M, Multi, Warning for discussion of brain death and taking someone off life support, post season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLateNightStoryTeller/pseuds/TheLateNightStoryTeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons was surrounded by no less than four armed guards (and probably more she couldn't see), at least four enemy agents who would shoot if given a reason a to, without her partner, in an unfamiliar lab, with an impossible time limit hanging over her. She was working under difficult circumstances, to say the least, and she was absolutely terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing is as it Seems

> _The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other._
> 
> -Mario Puzo

Jemma Simmons was surrounded by no less than four armed guards (and probably more she couldn't see), at least four enemy agents who would shoot if given a reason a to, without her partner, in an unfamiliar lab, with an impossible time limit hanging over her. She was working under difficult circumstances, to say the least, and she was absolutely terrified.

Her hand reached into her pocket, her fingers running over the smooth plastic of the familiar object, reminding her why she was there, calming her for an instant.

She wasn't expecting the reaction her movement created, hadn't expected six guns to suddenly be turned on her, their safeties clicked off, but she rose her hands instinctively, the object held between her thumb and index before one of the guards stepped forward and roughly yanked it away.

"It's a toy," she told them insistently, a squeak in her voice. "Just a toy, it has... sentimental value, nothing more, I swear."

"Let her work," a voice over the intercom instructed impatiently. "It's harmless. Place it on the desk," they demanded and he did as he was told, setting it down where she could see it.

Simmons glanced at it briefly before she set back to work, straining to keep her hands steady, she didn't have time to make a mistake.

'No one is going to shoot you,' she assured herself. 'They have no reason to, you haven't done anything wrong.'

Not yet.


	2. The Day We Died

"I'll hold your hand," he offered, before turning bright red and shyly picking at the skin around his thumbnail. "I mean, if you're scared."

"Thank you Fitz," Simmons replied cheerfully, attempting to alleviate his embarrassment. It had been a kind offer and there was no need for the blush that rose to his cheeks. "That's very thoughtful of you."

Leo Fitz  _was_  thoughtful, thoughtful and kind and pricklier than an angry porcupine when he wanted to be (or when she bested him at Operation, he wasn't the only one with steady hands). She'd known him for almost six months, half a year, and already she couldn't quite picture her life without him.

What would Friday nights be without popcorn and old horror films? What would Tuesdays be without brainstorming hour? What would she be doing in line for this monster without Fitz?

They were next to board The Raptor, a ride named after the category of birds rather than the dinosaur, each cart was painted with a different bird of prey. There's was a black eagle, dark, beautifully designed feathers with grey-tipped wings strewn out behind it and a bright yellow beak, on a silver background. It reminded her a bit of the eagle on the blazer she worn yesterday, proudly, to celebrate the completion of her second semester, her first complete term with her best friend.

They weren't agents yet but they would be someday. Fitz told her she had nothing to worry about. He believed in her and that meant a lot coming from someone who thought 'bugs' were out to get him or that the postman was shiftily trying to recruit him into a secret, evil organization. That tattoo on the poor man's arm was surely for the mythological creature not fallen enemy of their organization, silly Fitz and his imagination. Hydra was gone.

Fitz didn't believe in a lot of things, but he believed in her; he didn't trust a lot of people, but he trusted her and she took that seriously.

"I've never done one with a loop before," she admitted, giggling nervously. "It should be... fun."

"Yeah," he giggled with her. "Fun."

They sat down beside each other, maybe a little closer together than they normally would have, as the carnival attendant assisted them with the harness, ensuring they were buckled in securely before moving on to the next cart, another black bird, a condor. Simmons loved the bird's wide, majestic wings but many people couldn't get past its odd, featherless head. It was a shame, it really was a beautiful bird.

"Not too late to back out," Fitz offered kindly beside her. "We can still ask to leave, I'll even let you pretend it was me who was scared, you know, so you don't have to be embarrassed."

"There would be nothing to be embarrassed about," she assured him, matching his kindness because she suspected he was imprinting his fear onto her. "If you're frightened-"

"I'm not," he said quickly.

"Then there's no reason to delay the ride," she told him, smiling encouragingly.

"None at all," he agreed and they were silent until the clink of chains told them it had started.

"It always starts with a hill," she commented nervously as they rose, slowly, higher and higher. Simmons wasn't afraid of heights, not yet, that fear would begin years later, after a spontaneous free fall with no parachute. Even so, the idea of being dropped from as high as they were was daunting.

"It's so it builds up potential energy-" Fitz began, smiling consolingly.

"So it can be converted into kinetic energy once we drop," she finished. "I know, I was just-"

"Trying to make conversation?" he guessed.

"Yeah," she replied and they grinned at each other.

They reached the top of the hill and the first cart hung over it, suspended for a minute to let the tension build up.

Without really thinking about it, Simmons reached out to grab Fitz's hand at the exact same moment he reached out for hers. Neither of them spoke, they simply intertwined their fingers together and waited.

Then the cart dropped at such speed it made her feel like her stomach was going to leap out of her mouth and she let out a scream that turned into laughter, delighted at hearing Fitz react similarly beside her while he squeezed her hand.

Up to this point, she'd had a good life; wonderful friends, an amazing family, new discoveries around every corner. She'd been happy, but having Fitz in her life had made it even better, grown her happiness like a seedling into a tree, and she never wanted to let go of him.

/-/-/

Several years later, Simmons was holding onto Fitz's hand again, only he wasn't squeezing hers back this time and he wasn't laughing. He was still, silent, machines helping him breath, keeping him alive.

He was almost gone, teetering on the edge of here and nowhere but she was still holding onto him, still never wanted to let go.

"-and there's a kitchen with all the cereal you could want and everything we need to make pancakes so we can celebrate when you wake up," she was telling him softly, trying not to cry in case he could hear her.

It wasn't entirely impossible, he was still in there, just... sleeping. And he was going to wake up.

"-I know you wont be happy about it but we've set up a room for you and you're going to need to stay in there when you're better," she let him know. "Don't worry, we left your bunk the way it was, you can take what you like from it when you wake up. It's really nice here, you'll like it."

She rubbed his hand between hers, warming it as she spoke to him.

"-it's my new lanyard, isn't it lovely? You'll get one too, all you need to do is answer a few questions. You can do it after you-"

Beeeeeeeeeep. One moment he was fine, his heart beating at a good, steady rhythm, and the next there was a straight line across the screen of EKG.

"Fitz?!" she exclaimed, startled but leaping into action.

She hit the call button and began and began CPR, forcing his heart to squeeze, to pump blood through his body, reach his tissues, his brain, keep him alive.

"Beat, beat, please beat," she pleaded, blinking away unhelpful tears.

What happened next, in Simmons mind, was complete chaos. The med team streamed in, a woman forced her to step aside so she could take over, a man tried to herd her out of the room.

"You need to give us room," he told her, gentle but insistent.

"We need to save him," she cried, reaching out to her injured friend desperately. "You need to start-"

"We know what we're doing," he assured her quickly, slowly pushing her out. "There's a room, at the end of the hall, you wait there and we'll come get you after."

"But-" she began miserably, staring at Fitz, not wanting to leave him alone with strangers. He'd be scared and he didn't take comfort easily from people he didn't know. He'd be scared and all alone and he could die that way, not like that. The thought stabbed hot knives into her heart and nothing made sense until one of the other doctors called out to the man herding her out the door.

"Hank we need you over here," she said.

Simmons realized she was holding them up, tying up resources that should have been going to Fitz and she was done taking from him. The last thing she'd taken had done this to him, so she backed out of the room on her own and walked rigidly down the hall into the pseudo-waiting room.

The others soon joined her but she didn't acknowledge their presences. She was too focused on Fitz, on willing him to be OK, on trying to figure out what had gone so wrong.

/-/-/

After almost half an hour the man who had herded her out entered their little room and the worn down, wretched expression on his face made Simmons feel sick.

"I'm sorry," he told them but Simmons was too numb to see the sympathy in his tired eyes or feel Skye's hand her on her shoulder as her friend cried silent tears beside her.

'Don't say it,' she thought feverishly, the world around her tilting as if she were on a ship, a small ship in the midst of a raging storm. 'Don't say it.'

"There's next to no activity now, there's nothing we can do," he sighed unhappily. "I'm afraid he isn't going to wake up."

Skye gasped and May grit her teeth, staring down at the floor.

"Damn it," Coulson muttered under his breath, angry and in pain.

Triplett stared ahead miserably.

"No," Simmons whispered, her voice hoarse, scratchy and unfamiliar. She swallowed, her eyes filling with tears. "No," she repeated, clearer this time, almost forcefully. "He was... a few minutes ago...," a sob spasmed through her chest and she clapped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head 'no' and blinking away tears so she could see.

Skye sniffed and rubbed her back, slow circular motions Simmons almost didn't register. "Simmons," she began gently, voice watery.

"I need to see him," she said forcefully jerking away from Skye and pushing past the doctor.

"You can't go back there," he called but she ignored him. "It's immediate family members only, you can't-"

"We are his family," Skye cut him off firmly. "Please," Simmons heard her beg but the rest of the conversation faded as she picked up speed, racing down the hall, back to Fitz's room.

No one tried to stop her, the medical team had all but departed except for a lingering nurse, adjusting the IV and he left her alone with him, casting her a remorseful glance before he exited the room.

Simmons took him in, small and fragile beneath all the equipment.

"Oh Fitz," she whispered, gliding like a ghost to his side and taking his hand.

He didn't look any different from when she'd seen him half an hour ago, the same IV, the same machines helping him breath, same skin, same hair, same beautiful face. How could he be gone and not look any different?

She tested his oculocephelatic reflex, gently opening his eyes and quickly tilting his head side to side to see how they moved. His reaction was typical of someone who was brain dead but she still couldn't believe it. She stroked his cheek, searching the face she held between her hands pleadingly before moving on.

She went through most of the tests she remembered, carefully, extra gentle with him because he was her Fitz and she'd never hurt him whatever state he was in, doing them each twice to be sure, three times because she didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it.

When she was done she stared down at his still form for a minute, frozen to the spot, the world crashing around her. Half an hour ago there had been hope, half an hour ago he might have woken up but now... now there was nothing. Nothing was holding her down and she was floating away, away into space and she couldn't breath. She was dying.

Simmons didn't make a sound but tears flowed in a river past her cheeks as she knelt beside him, took his cold, lifeless hand in her own and tenderly kissed his forehead, leaving her face next to his for a few heartbeats to breath in his scent, before she couldn't stand being there an longer, not after what made him Fitz was gone forever, and turned away from what was left of him to walk unsteadily out of the room.

In the hallway she started running, dashing out of the medical wing past her team and the doctors and the shouts worriedly asking where she was going. She ran into the hangar, found their Bus and opened the bay doors. Then she tore up the stairs, her footsteps clanking loudly, and surprised herself when she made her way to Fitz's bunk instead of her own, vigorously locking the door behind her in case anyone came looking.

She took in the room, she'd been in there a hundred times, sat on the edge of the bed almost everyday, but this hundred and first time seemed more like the first ever. There was a picture on the shelf of the pair of them, grinning widely behind his monkey figurine, Simmons in the foreground where his eyes would be drawn before they found anything else. She was in the foreground of his picture just like she'd been in the foreground of his thoughts, of his heart.

'... _You're more than that Jemma_..'

That monkey figurine, why had he put that one up? It wasn't even his favorite, and he had dozens of others. But  _she_  had given him that one, that was what made it different, made it special.

'... _pl_ _ease, let me show you_...'

He had shown her though, he'd practically screamed it at her but she hadn't been listening, hadn't understood. She was angry, disappointed with herself for not noticing what should have been obvious. She was suppose to be his best friend, more than that, she was his partner, the end of his thoughts. How had she missed this?

There was a bag of unfinished Twizzlers open on his desk. They'd never be finished, not by him.

'Not by anyone,' she decided. 'Those were his, those were his and no one else is getting them unless their blood glucose is dangerously low and we have no other alternative.'

She wanted him back, wanted him sitting in front of her, working on something or telling her a story or just being  _there._

"No," she whispered, hand over her eyes, wishing she could make him appear, munching on the sweets, when she removed it but she couldn't.

'I should have told him I love him too,' she thought miserably.

She hadn't though, she hadn't because she didn't know what it would mean for her to say that, didn't know what she felt for him. She'd thought she'd have time to sort it out. Naively, she'd thought she could save him, tricked herself into believing that if she just got him to the surface he'd be OK. He wasn't OK though and she wasn't ever going to sort out how she felt about him and how bad would it have been, really, for him to die knowing he was loved?

Because he was loved, so much. Whatever kind of love it was it was stronger than spider silk, more binding than a covalent bond and he should have known that it was wrapped around him always.

Her legs couldn't hold her up anymore, her muscles weak and her bones brittle, so she carefully lay sideways on his bed, pulled his pillow against her chest and buried her face into it to breath in his scent again as she shuddered, tiny squeaks escaping along with her tears.

She knew why she'd come here, she'd wanted someplace familiar, someplace that felt like home. She'd thought it was her bunk, her place on the Bus but it wasn't, it was Fitz. Fitz was home, the safe harbor in the storm, the warm armchair by the fire on a winter night, the place you thought of when you were far away and lonely. Fitz was home and a horrible ache spread across her stomach as she realized she was never going back.

/-/-/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fringe reference is the scene in which Simmons goes back to check Fitz herself. In The New Day in the Old Town Olivia is said to be brain dead and an unbelieving Walter goes back to check for himself. I thought it was something Simmons would do, want to see for herself what had happened.
> 
> Also the title of the chapter is the same as the title of a third season episode of Fringe and the title of the previous chapter, Nothing is as it Seems, is the title of a fourth season episode. I may try to give all the chapters the same names as Fringe episodes.
> 
> The Quote at the very beginning of the story is, I think, from the guy who wrote The Godfather.
> 
> The stuff about potential and kinetic energy is what I remember from High School and, of course, double checked on Google (which isn't the most reliable source but very convenient.)
> 
> The stuff about testing to see if someone is brain dead (brain stem tests) is all from Google.


	3. And Those We've Left Behind

There was knock at her door, quiet and hesitant.

"Simmons?" Fitz called. "Can I come in?"

She'd been sleeping, or about to be sleeping, but she was glad he'd come to see her because, in truth, she was scared.

"Come in," she invited, sitting up.

He entered and blushed when he saw she was in her pajamas, that she had been going to bed.

"Oh... sorry... I didn't mean to..." he mumbled, backing out. "I'll let you-"

"No wait," she said quickly, not wanting him leave. "It's alright, I was up anyway." She patted the empty space beside her and he walked over to take it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, studying her face.

"Better," she assured him, smiling warmly. "Thanks to you."

"It was a team effort," he added, smiling back before they fell silent, at ease in each other's presence.

"Why did you want to see me?" she asked politely after a moment.

He looked confused and she realized that he'd already told her why he'd come to find her. He wanted to be sure she was OK.

"Oh," she said softly. "I'm fine, really. There's nothing to worry about, my temperature has been normal for the past few hours, nothing metal has been spontaneously floating around me." She laughed nervously. "I'm ready to go to bed, I'm perfectly fine and I'm not going to have nightmares because that would be ridiculous." her nose crinkled, dismissing the thought of bad dreams. "The virus is gone, I'm not planning on taking any sky diving lessons and what happened today... it was a fluke, an irregularity. It isn't going to happen again." She remembered the ocean rising up to meet her, remembered being sick and helpless, and her face fell as she lost her feigned courage. "It isn't going to happen again," she repeated in a whisper.

"Jemma..." Fitz murmured, gentle, understanding, his eyes shining with concern. She wasn't fooling him, not even a little.

He touched her hand lightly."I'm proud of you," he told her, smiling warmly and melting away the outer edges of her fear. " You were so brave," he marveled. "So brave and so clever but..." he looked away, frowning unhappily, his grip on her hand tightening gently. It was several seconds before he continued. "You gave up," he whispered. "You should never give up Jemma," he asserted, shifting his gaze back to meet hers. "You're too important for that."

She took his hand in her own, sneaking her fingers through the spaces between his and feeling better for it.

" _We_  should never give up," she corrected, smiling fondly at him. "And you never do."

He smiled again and leaned forward to softly kiss her forehead, something he very rarely did, had only done a handful of times in the years they'd known each other. It spread a quiet, pleasant calm through her body and made her feel safe.

"Not on you," he answered, his voice like a summer breeze through long grass. "Go to sleep."

"OK," she agreed wearily.

Fitz moved so she could lie down before tucking the blanket around her, once again invoking a soothing sense of security, which settled over her like a second covering, and reminding her that she could always depend on him, that he loved her.

He stayed, without her needing to ask, watching over her like a human dream catcher as she closed her eyes. She wouldn't have nightmares tonight, of that she was certain, and she allowed the sound of his steady breathing to lull her to sleep.

/-/-/

Simmons had fallen asleep, Fitz's death, his empty room, had been the finishing blow to her dwindling energy and her exhaustion had finally overcome her.

She woke with a start to a pounding knock and forgot, for half a second, what had happened before the fresh memory of it tore a new rip in her shredded heart. How was she going to live like this?

"Simmons?" it was Skye, her voice higher than usual and it sounded like she'd been crying. "Simmons are you OK? I mean... of course you're not OK, what am I saying? None of us are OK, Fitz is-" she whimpered and was silent for a minute. "Do you need anything?" she asked, barely a whisper.

Simmons didn't reply. She didn't want to ignore Skye, knew her friend was hurting too, knew she was only trying to help, but she couldn't find the strength to speak.

"That's fine," Skye told her softly. "I came to tell you Fitz's mother is coming." Oh God, Simmons had forgotten. She couldn't face her, not now, maybe not ever, but she'd want to see her son's room so eventually Simmons would have to leave it. "The plane is landing in nine hours and...twenty two minutes," she informed her, likely checking the time on her watch. "I don't know... what she's going want to do, but... well we've all been sitting with him, saying goodbye."

Why did Simmons suddenly want to go to him so badly? He wasn't even there anymore. She sniffed, sitting up and rubbing the tears from her eyes. What harm could it do? She'd give herself this brief reprieve from rationality, nothing that was happening made sense anyway.

There were footsteps, someone stopped beside Skye.

"Have you asked her?" May inquired sombrely.

"She's done enough," Skye hissed, suddenly angry.

"We need this," May objected. "Simmons should be able to make her own decisions, you can't shelter-"

"Watch me," Skye snapped.

Simmons didn't want to do whatever it was, she didn't want to do  _anything_ except see Fitz, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to.

_'...you should never give up Jemma...'_

Despite her pain, the world continued to turn, continued to revolve around the star called the sun and people continued to live in it, people who were depending on her and her team to keep them safe.

She drifted like a specter over to the door and unlocked it before sliding it open.

Skye let out a sigh, her sad eyes narrowing sympathetically as they took in Simmons' face. May's were bright, like she too had been crying, and they stared at her as if seeing the aftermath of a hurricane.

She didn't want their pity, she wanted to get back to work. Maybe she could distract herself from the storm wreaking havoc on her insides, maybe she could do some good and put a few sparks of light into her murky, dark world.

"What do you need?" she asked.

/-/-/

"You don't need to do this," Skye told her, grabbing her shoulders and stopping her in front of the door.

"I've already agreed to it," she mumbled, examining her feet, unable to meet her friend's eyes. She didn't want her to see how frightened she was, Skye was already acting like a mother-hen.

"She's right," Coulson added. "We want to know what he has to tell us, or-" he glanced at May, "write to us- but if this is too much-"

"I'm fine," she insisted lifting her chin and trying to look brave. "I'm a SHIELD agent, not a civilian, you don't need to coddle me. I can do this."

"We'll be right outside," Skye assured her, rubbing arm soothingly and she nodded numbly. Then, before Skye could say anything else, before Simmons could give in and allow herself to hide behind the protective fortress her friend was trying to build around her, she pushed open the door and walked into the interrogation room.

She couldn't look at Ward without feeling like she was falling, without being afraid. He twitched his fingers and she flinched, receiving a glance filled with what might have been guilt but she doubted was anything so human, as he reached for the felt-tip pen.

On the small, square whiteboard he'd been provided he wrote, 'Bring short range EMP device.'

Fear again. She didn't want to be afraid of him, she wanted to yell at him. She wanted to hurl every profanity she knew at him like sticky balls of mud, she wanted to glare at him instead of avoiding his gaze, she almost,  _almost_ , wanted to hurt him.

That wasn't her job though.

"No," Coulson said over the speakers, jolting her back to the message on the board.

'Be brave,' she told herself. 'You give Ward your time, he gives us information, we can save a few lives. Time, information, save lives. Time, information, save lives.' She repeated her new mantra in her head, over and over as she reached into her pocket and ran her fingers over the smooth, familiar plastic of the monkey figurine she'd taken with her, taking strength from it.

Ward frowned at the mirror/window, erased the first thing he had written hastily with his wrist and quickly scribbled out his next message.

'No deal then.'

The words hit Simmons like a slap in the face. Who the hell was he to be making deals? To be sitting across from her, practically unscathed while Fitz was gone. Her best friend, her soulmate, was dead because of him and he was making deals? Something inside her snapped.

"Give us the EMP," she demanded, talking to Coulson while jerking her head up from the board and glaring at Ward. There must have been hot flames shooting from her eyes because he moved back, ever so slightly, in his seat and swallowed. "I'll be fine, but you had better talk after," she warned him fiercly. "Or whatever the bloody hell you do to communicate at the moment, write on that stupid whiteboard."

'I'll talk,' he wrote, 'but this message is only for you.'

'I hope it isn't a damn apology,' she thought bitterly, 'Because it's too late for that, ninety feet and a box full of ocean water too late.'

/-/-/

"He wants to be alone with her," Coulson said, only hinting at how worried he actually was. Not another one, he couldn't stand to lose anymore of his team, of the people he was responsible for.

"And if we give him this he'll tell us the names of five Hydra agents still undercover," May reminded him, expression unreadable.

"Is it worth it?" He muttered, almost to himself.

"We're already vulnerable," She pointed out. "We can't afford to ignore his offer."

"But she's-" he began miserably.

"I know," May cut in, eyes sad. "She's only a kid. A kid who's already been through far too much, she's hurting-"

"She's broken," he corrected angrily. "She's been shattered into pieces and this isn't going to help put her back together."

"She's strong Phil, she can do this," May insisted. "If she says she can do this, we need to trust her."

"He could hurt her," he worried.

"Simmons knows the risks," she objected. "She can do this."

He sighed, weighing his options before coming to a decision. His index finger pressed down the bottom on the intercom.

"Alright," he said, an edge to his voice. "We'll bring it."

/-/-/

A few minutes later May delivered the short range EMP, eyeing Ward as she dropped it on the desk in front of him.

"You will not hurt her," she declared. "You will not touch her. If any harm comes to her I will personally ensure that your life becomes a living hell."

Ward raised his cuffed hands defensively, unreadable.

May turned to Simmons. "You're sure?" She checked, meeting her gaze.

Simmons nodded. "I'll be fine," she promised.

Her friend glared at Ward one more time before leaving them alone, casting Simmons one last concerned glance from the doorway and then shutting it with a click.

"I'm guessing you want me to use this?" Simmons ventured, lifting the device, the device she and Fitz had made together, and tearing another shred of her heart slowly off as she realized they'd never make anything together ever again. She swallowed back her tears as he nodded.

"Alright," she muttered, taking a breath and activating it.

Nothing seemed different but she knew that they were now truly alone. The others wouldn't be able to see or hear what was going on until they fixed the equipment. Which could be a while, considering their engineer was dead. Another shred peeled painfully.

'Focus,' she ordered herself. 'Stop thinking about Fitz.'

However what Ward wrote next threw any chance of  _that_  happening out the window.

'You can save Fitz. Be at Little Hill Park in one hour.'

"Fitz is dead," she spat at him, unable to reign in her rage. What did that even mean? What was he playing at? "We lost him almost an hour ago. His mum is coming to say goodbye and then we're probably going to unplug him." Another agonizing tear. At this rate she'd soon have no heart at all. "You killed him you bastard, are you happy now?"

He frowned again and wrote more down beneath the first message.

'You can still save him. The GH 325. Raina has some, she is perfecting the formula.'

Simmons heart was completely mangled now, gone. She was sitting there with a gaping, empty hole in her chest, baffled at how she was still alive and she hated herself for asking the next question, practically shriveled with shame.

"What do I need to do to get it?" she inquired, almost inaudibly.

It could work. It had worked on Skye when she was beyond saving, had worked on Coulson when he was beyond living. There were consequences, unthinkable consequences in just using the drug. Her terror at what she might do to Fitz, the agony she'd potentially unleash on him to get him back, was unbearable, never mind what awful, evil things she'd have to do to acquire it.

And yet...

And yet she leapt at the possibility, was drawn to it like a ravenous animal. Fitz, alive. She'd hear his voice again, his laughter. He'd be her Fitz again, a bright, beautiful miracle lighting away the horrific darkness.

Ward underlined the time and meeting place unhelpfully.

"I mean after that," she snapped. She was a fish on his hook and she hated him for it. He was tapping the information, staring at her questioningly. "Yes, I've got it. I know where I'm going." she barked impatiently. "I mean what am I going to need to do when I get there."

He rubbed the message away, expressionless, and wrote another message.

'Perfect the drug.'

'That's not so bad,' she told herself. 'It heals people, it's what you wanted to do anyway. How much harm could it possibly do?'

A lot. In Hydra's hands, it could do a lot of harm. She grit her teeth, thinking it through miserably.

Ward was writing again.

'He's your best friend.'

"Thank you for that, I'd forgotten," she shot back harshly.

'He loved you.'

Her eyes filled with tears. "Stop it," she whispered painfully.

'Don't you love him too?'

She yanked the board out of his hands and threw it has hard as she could against the wall, cracking it in two and sending splinters of it flying at them. One pricked across her skin but she ignored the sting.

"I hate you!" she screamed. "I hate you and you can just go to hell!"

At that, she shoved her chair back roughly, screeching the legs across the floor, and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

She needed to see Fitz. Whatever state he was in, she needed to be with him, even if it made absolutely no sense to her.

/-/-/

When she entered his room he was alone, he shouldn't have been alone, (why did it matter?), so she took the chair next to him and wrapped her hands around his good one. While she stared desolately down on him, she wondered if she'd just blown the deal. If she'd just failed her team.

Ward's offer buzzed around her, nagging her, landing on the raw flesh of her ragged, empty chest like a fly on carrion.

A vicious battle was being fought inside of her.

'Little Hill Park, one-' 'No.'

'It could save him.' 'It could make him wish he were dead.'

'The formula has been modified.'

'You're going to get innocent people killed.'

'Maybe not.' 'Definitely.'

'You can't know that.'

Simmons didn't know what to do. Risking the lives of dozens, maybe even hundreds of people, for a slim chance at saving one who was already dead was ludicrous, entirely unimaginable.

Except it was Fitz.

He wasn't a variable or an abstract concept, he was someone she loved and, right then, whether he remained dead or possibly survived was up to her.

She imagined his fingers wrapping around her hand, his eyes fluttering open, recognizing her face, smiling. She could have that.  _He_ could have that, she could give him the universe back. She could give him back Twizzlers and monkeys and science and the feel of a warm breeze on his skin.

_If_  she helped Hydra become more powerful, and how many people would she be taking those things from to give them back to him?

"What am I going to do?" She whimpered as she pressed her face into his side, tears soaking into the covers (would she ever stop crying?) while she sobbed uncontrollably, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

Whatever decision she made, she was certain she was going to regret it for the rest of her life.

/-/-/

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fringe reference is the place, Little Hill. In first season episode, In Which We Meet Mr. Jones, it is the answer to the question 'Where does the gentleman live?'
> 
> The title of this chapter, And Those We've Left Behind, is the title of a fourth season episode of Fringe in which a man creates a time bubble to keep him going back in time over and over so he can try and save his wife from dying of Alzheimer's Disease.


	4. Marionette

Simmons met them at the park. A dark car pulled up and she was taken into it at gunpoint before someone placed a bag over her head. The man who brought her in gripped her arm so tightly it hurt and pressed the tip of his gun to her side.

"Don't say anything," he growled.

Simmons hadn't been planning to and, besides, her throat had closed up while she fought back tears. She was almost glad for the foul smelling sack forcing her to breath in thick, hot, disgusting air. At least it would hide her face until she could compose herself.

She was so scared, so unbelievably frightened for so many reasons, but she held onto the thought of seeing Fitz again, of giving him this chance, and felt stronger.

As the car sped down road after road, increasingly bumpier so that she was jostled around and feared the gun would go off accidently and end this before it even started, she held onto her memories of her friend, held onto him even after there was nothing left to grasp.

/-/-/

"Hold up your badge, I want to get it in the photo," Simmons requested, briefly lowering her camera to speak with him before raising it up to snap the photograph.

"You mean my  _secret agent badge,_ " Fitz replied smugly, lifting it in front of him and grinning proudly.

Click.

"Yes, just like that," Simmons giggled.

They'd received the badges over an hour ago during a long, beautiful ceremony, alongside around seventy other graduates. The Academy was elite, and class sizes reflected that.

She'd already had her picture taken with her new badge (which read agent Simmons, she was practically oozing with excitement) and she was searching for someone to take a photograph of her and Fitz together when she spotted a group of students dancing around a radio.

"Oh Fitz look," she pointed, widening her eyes pleadingly.

"Really Simmons?" he asked disapprovingly. "The chicken dance?"

"It's fun," she protested lightly, rolling her eyes and taking his hand to tug him along behind her. "You'll like it," she decided.

He sighed but didn't resist and she suspected he was too caught up in the festive atmosphere to be too embarrassed. That and most of the students were already making themselves look absolutely ridiculous, flapping their arms and miming beaks with their fingers before wiggling into a crouch, rising and spinning around with their partner.

Fitz and herself joined them. He was hesitant at first but after a few rounds of her calling him a 'lousy chicken' he grew competitive and stepped up his dancing.

"We'll see who's the better chicken," he said, half teasingly, half accepting her challenge. She was sure he would fly off the ground at how forcefully he was beating his 'wings' and she giggled at him again. Silly Fitz.

"Quack, quack, quack," she sang merrily.

"I knew you were a duck!" Fitz joked feigning offence. "Have you been undercover this whole time?"

"Quack," she replied and they laughed together until their sides hurt, giddy and happy and excited for the future.

/-/-/

After about half an hour they arrived and the man pulled her out of her head as he yanked her from the car behind him. His fingers still dug into her skin while he escorted her gruffly into the building.

At the door they stopped her and by the cricking sound which drifted over each of her limbs before sliding up her torso, Simmons guessed they were scanning her for spyware. They wouldn't find anything.

They walked through hallways, cool and quiet so that their footsteps echoed off the walls, boarded an elevator, descended, walked through another hallway and still the bag remained over her head.

Finally she was pushed forcefully into a chair and the wretched sack was pulled off, allowing her to breath in the fresh, cool air in hungry gasps as she took in the room she'd been brought too. She was sure she'd need to take a shower from the inside out to remove the stench from herself.

She was in a lab, white benches, bright and the colour of fresh snow, were lined with clean, updated equipment. Beside the benches were cabinets, well stocked with chemicals and gleaming glass beakers. It looked brand new, hardly used if at all and standing only a few feet away from her, in a neat, well fitted red dress patterned with intricate white flowers, was Raina.

There was something oddly terrifying about the woman before her. She was like a poisonous animal, brightly coloured and delicate looking but deadly all the same.

"I'm here," Simmons told her bravely, trying to appear strong. "We should get started."

Raina smiled and it felt as she were mocking her.

"You aren't curious why you're here," she asked, "what we are going to do with the finished product?"

Yes

She shook her head. "No, I'm here for Fitz, that's all."

That smile again.

"Leopold Fitz," she mused, moving to a recent-model computer on one of the benches and softly pushing down the spacebar of the keyboard. A picture of him, holding his badge up and grinning proudly, was projected onto the wall in front of Simmons. "Born December 29th 1987, died May 14th, 2014 at the age of 26. Young, even for a SHIELD agent." His date of birth and death scrolled beneath the picture and Simmons looked away, unable to hold back her tears, biting down hard on her lip so that at least she'd cry silently. "It seems permanent when it's displayed like that doesn't it?" Raina guessed. "But we can rewrite it."

The screen flashed and Simmons lifted her gaze to see another picture, one of her and Fitz together, smiling in front of an Incan temple. The background shifted, new places appeared behind them, waterfalls and tall buildings, statues and famous monuments and as the location changed so did they, becoming older, their skin wrinkling, hair greying. Finally the image switched again, back to the original picture of a proud, smiling Fitz. This time the text underneath read: 'December 29, 1987- ?'.

"We can rewrite the future, the things which seem to be set." Raina left the image up and Simmons stared longingly at it until the woman approached her, stepping into her line of sight. "You're very smart, agent Simmons," she praised earnestly. "You're talents would be valued here, your imagination uncontained."

It took Simmons a few seconds to realize what Raina was offering.

"I'm here for Fitz," she repeated stubbornly. "I will never join Hydra."

Raina laughed. "You think I'm Hydra?" She smiled knowingly. "You think this," she raised her hands to indicate the lab, "is Hydra's?"

"But Ward-" she began, incredibly confused.

"Ward is a pawn," Raina dismissed. "Easily manipulated, he was made malleable long ago by his own demons. I told him there was a way to save Fitz, that Hydra wanted him too, and he jumped on it."

"Ward doesn't care about us," she scoffed.

"He cares too much," Raina corrected, "and it scares him. Scares him so much he tried to kill you."

"That doesn't make any sense," Simmons objected.

"Doesn't it?" Raina pondered. "Wouldn't you be stronger without Fitz? Better able to resist us?"

"I'd be dead without Fitz," Simmons countered, irritated at the time they were wasting. "He makes me stronger."

"You have very different views on love," Raina admitted. "Would you like to know what I think?"

"I'm here. For Fitz," she repeated tersely, not giving a damn what this evil woman thought. Her hands were just as stained with blood as any Hydra agent and Simmons was beyond caring what Ward's motivations were. He'd taken too much from her for her to ever forgive him. "Can we please get started."

Raina frowned, eyes darkening dangerously for a moment and Simmons flinched, expecting a strike, before they cleared again.

"Of course," she replied smoothly. "Let's begin."

A small army of guards entered the room, four Simmons could see, and she suspected more were waiting just outside the door.

Simmons set to work, aware of the time limit looming over her. Five hours, she had five hours to do this.

Progress was slow at first, Raina showed her the data she'd already collected on the computer, projecting it onto the wall alongside the photograph of Fitz which she'd left up. Simmons tried not to look at it, tried not to think about what would happen if she failed, how she would lose him all over again.

'More efficient when suspended in blood,' the projections instructed. 'Fewer side effects'

Alright, easy enough, she'd been provided with bags of blood to work with, Raina said it was her blood.

"My own donation to the future," she'd told her. The woman was insane.

After the first two hours she left Simmons alone with the guards, moving to the other room and likely watching over the monitors.

An hour later, Simmons tested what she had on a rat, one which had been injured in the same way as Fitz and was attached to a mini version of his respirator. She didn't see the similarities though, didn't notice the picture of her fallen friend anymore, didn't notice the throbbing ache in her heart. She was focused on her task, determined to complete it.

The rat didn't stir and after a minute its heart stopped and it died.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath, blinking away troublesome tears which she didn't have time for.

"Keep going, I think you're getting close," Raina encouraged.

How the hell would she know?

Less than two hours left, this was her only chance, if she messed it up she'd never be able to bring Fitz back. He'd never see another sunrise or have the pleasure of a sweet, sugary treat against his palate or be content with the knowledge that he was loved down the furthest reaches of his soul. And it would be entirely her fault.

It was too much, she needed the tiny ounce of comfort she'd brought with her so she reached into her pocket and ran her fingers over the smooth plastic of the monkey figurine, unleashing a terrifying overreaction from the guards before Raina told them curtly to let her work.

So she continued, the pressure like bricks on her chest, making it difficult to breath.

' _Pretend it's a test, an exam_." That's what Fitz would have said, how he would have encoraged her. He would have believed in her, never given up and she wasn't going to either. Not when it was his life she was fighting for.

With the timer in her head swiftly approaching zero, Simmons figured out what killed the rat, it was a simple thing really. Easily fixed.

She wrote more notes beside Raina's, completing her formula, a finished product. Now she really had done something wrong.

"I'm done," she called, ignoring the guards and addressing Raina instead. She was the only person Simmons had to worry about right then, they were as much under her control Simmons appeared to be.

A door at the far end of the lab opened and Raina entered the room, strolling towards her calmly. Simmons tensed, struggling not to tremble, to keep her expression neutral. It was too late to turn back now, she'd have to face the consequences of her actions, whatever they were.

'Please, let me save him, let me save him,' she begged, over and over, willing her deepest wish into reality.

"This is it?" Raina inquired evenly, eye scanning the notes. "It will work."

"I'm certain," Simmons insured her quietly, terrified. "C-could you please p-print m-me a copy," she stuttered before pressing her lips together, fighting to keep her breathing even.

"This is impressive," Raina commented breezily. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to join us? We can make room for both you and your partner. You could be part of great future."

"Never," she declared, courage returning. "I'm here for-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Raina interrupted, slightly irritated. "That's a shame." She turned to the guards. "Kill her," she instructed simply.

"What?!" Simmons squeaked, icing over. "No, no you can't, we had a deal."

Six guns aimed at her, ready to shoot. Simmons thought that was little excessive, one good shot to the head would have been enough.

What was she doing criticising her executioners? Shouldn't she have better final thoughts than that?

Fitz.

Bitter regret cracked across her icy terror. Now they'd both be dead, she couldn't save him and she was going to die for nothing. His sacrifice was going to be for nothing. Maybe Ward had been right (not to kill them, only in his philosophy) maybe love was dangerous, after all both her and Fitz were going to die because they loved each other.

It was worth it though, she wouldn't have traded anything for the bond they'd shared. She'd die a thousand times if it meant a thousand lives with Fitz. And maybe it did, maybe they'd both be part of the same star one day, or neighbouring oak trees, or a pair of monkeys. They would never see each other again but maybe, just maybe, parts of them would meet another time, someday in the future.

The thought comforted her and she tried to remember the good things about her short life; her family, friends, picnics and football games, graduating the Academy, hours of reading and doing experiments, creating new things, Fitz, everything that made life unimaginably spectacular.

There were tears in her eyes but they weren't only from fear, as she waited for the guards to fire, waited for it all to end.

/-/-/

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fringe reference in this chapter is the shower from the inside out. At the start of the first season, upon finding out that her boyfriend is an evil spy, this is what Olivia tells Charlie she feels like doing.
> 
> Fitz's birthdate is from SHIELDapedia (SHIELD wiki). Update: there is some disagreement on when his birthday actually is but I will keep it in December for this fic. Also he is not a vampire, he was born in 1987, not 1887. Thank you Notapepper and spitfire303 for catching the typo :).
> 
> I don't think they really have mini rat respirators but Raina has some fancy stuff so I figured she had them made special.
> 
> Also I made Raina not working for Hydra because she never really seemed that loyal to them. I actually remember her stating once something along the lines that she wasn't. I could be wrong, but I think her and Skye's scary dad are up to something else.


	5. A Short Story About Love

The guards never had a chance to fire but Simmons heard the sound of bullets shooting through the air and tensed before several thumps suggested bodies falling to the floor.

He eyes opened, slowly, and just as the world was coming into focus Skye was covering her entire field of view, pulling her into her arms and squeezing her tightly.

"Are you OK?" she asked intently, as she ended the brief embrace, scanning her anxiously.

Simmons nodded, shaken but unharmed.

May was ensuring the guards had been taken out, Raina was not among them and Simmons feared she'd escaped, while Coulson snapped a picture of the projection with a tiny black camera, which looked a little like a pair of binoculars.

"That isn't the entire solution," he double-checked briskly and Simmons shook her head.

"No, it isn't," she replied.

/-/-/

**6 Hours Earlier**

Simmons kept her face pressed into Fitz's side even as her shudders subsided. Had he been alive she knew he would have been embracing her, telling her without words that it was going to be OK and, because of that, it would have been.

Though, if he were alive, she wouldn't have been crying at all right now.

"I miss you so much," she said softly, her words unheard. "But what would you think of me if I did this?"

She didn't know why she was talking to him, he wasn't going to answer, wasn't going to comfort her. Maybe it was simply that revealing her thoughts out loud helped her sort through them. Or maybe she missed being able to talk to him so much she was fooling herself into thinking she could.

Her head rose and she tangled her fingers with his, watching his face. The way he was, she could almost pretend he was sleeping, he looked peaceful at least.

"I'm not sure I could live with either decision," she admitted painfully. "You would do it for me though, wouldn't you?" She guessed.

"He'd do what for you?" Skye asked gently, taking the seat beside her.

Simmons had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn't heard her come in, hadn't noticed her listening in the doorway. Her friend's gaze drifted to Fitz and she reached out to touch his leg. "Hey buddy," she murmured sadly, eyes searching his face, miserable and bright.

The greeting was quiet and mournful, like a sad song on a rainy day and suddenly Simmons didn't feel so alone in her sorrow. Even if it wasn't exactly the same, Skye had loved him too, she would want him back just like Simmons did. She wasn't alone in this and maybe that meant she didn't need to compromise her morals for her best friend's life.

"What did Ward say to you?" Skye asked and, though she was clearly angry about it, there was a gentle concern in her eyes as they rested on Simmons' face.

"He offered me a deal," Simmons answered quietly, deciding to be honest with her friend, squeezing Fitz's hand and wondering if she'd just doomed him. It could work, a plan was forming in her mind, dust swirling into solid carvings of stone. "If I help Hydra perfect the GH 325, they'll give me some to use on Fitz."

Skye didn't reply at first. Instead she stared down at Fitz and, as Simmons watched her, silent tears fell onto her cheeks, dripping down off the bottom of her chin. She gave his leg a squeeze then let go and turned to her.

"Do you think you can?" She asked to Simmons' astonishment. "Perfect it I mean."

Simmons looked away from her, gazing again at Fitz's almost-sleeping face. "I think so," she answered slowly. "And I think I can get around giving Hydra what they want, if you and the others help me," she added, examining her friend's reaction closely.

"Well then, we should probably figure out how we're going to pull this off," Skye told her matter-of-factly, as if they'd already made a decision and Simmons' eyes widened, surprised at her swift agreement.

"Oh C'mon Simmons," she teased, a tiny ray of humour returning to her expression. "You really think we can't outsmart those doorknobs? We're the good guys, and that means we win."

"This isn't a film," Simmons said quietly, though she was encouraged by her support.

She knew Skye was bluffing overconfidence, that she didn't really believe what she was saying about good guys always winning, but she also knew that their team was strong, and clever and resourceful and that they loved Fitz like family. Maybe, together, they could find a way to save him without doing something terribly wrong. "We should go tell the others," she suggested and Skye smiled, rising to her feet.

"I'll get them," she offered. "You stay with Fitz, someone should be with him, watching over him."

"OK," Simmons agreed, smiling back weakly. She could do that, watch over Fitz. He'd always watched over her, always protected her, and she had always tried to do the same for him. It was what they did and she would keep doing it for as long there was still hope that it would bring him back to her.

/-/-/

"No," Coulson denied.

Skye's expression darkened and Simmons' heart sank at their leader's disapproval. She hadn't expected their plan to be shot down so quickly.

"We can do this," Skye asserted stubbornly and Simmons didn't trust herself to speak so she pressed her teeth together, holding back a reply as she gently rubbed Fitz's hand. It was freezing and he didn't like being cold.

'He can't feel it,' she silently reminded herself, however she kept up the motion, using friction to warm away the chill.

"That's what I'm worried about," Coulson answered, upset. "We can't just start using this drug on everyone, we-"

"And why not?" Simmons demanded, pausing her efforts on Fit's hand, unable to remain silent any longer. He'd been putting up barriers in her path ever since they'd used the GH 325 on Skye and she'd been patient (if a little rebellious, going around him to work on it) because he was her leader and she respected him but this was too far. "It was used on you, on Skye. Why is Fitz any different? Why can't we fight for him too? He is just as important as you are."

"Simmons, SHIELD-" he began.

"I don't care what the bloody protocol is!" she raged, releasing Fitz's hand and shooting to he feet. What was wrong with her? What was she doing yelling at Coulson? "I don't care if things like this are reserved for level sevens and above or for fallen Avengers or for whoever the hell SHIELD thinks is more important than Fitz, because they ARE NOT! They are not more important than he is!" She was crying again, furious, desperate, unsure exactly what she was saying and hoping she wasn't completely incoherent. "Maybe they don't think of him as a hero but he is, he's my hero. He's my hero and I'm getting him back so don't you dare try to stop me because you-"

"Simmons," Coulson interrupted, raising his voice to be heard over her shouting. "SHIELD doesn't know what all the side-effects of using the GH 325 are."

Oh, that was why he was objecting. Of course, Coulson knew Fitz was important, what had she been thinking? She hadn't been, she'd been reacting, a ball of pain and fury which bit and clawed like a scared, wounded animal when provoked. That had to stop.

She shut her mouth and averted her gaze, embarrassed. "Sorry sir," she mumbled.

He sighed, touching her shoulder briefly in an attempt at comfort before continuing.

"I begged for them to kill me Simmons," he told her solemnly. "They had to erase my memory to stop me from wanting to die it was so horrible. Do you really want to risk doing that to Fitz?"

Simmons swallowed, considering what he was telling her. What if Fitz woke up in that much pain and she couldn't stop it? How could she do that to him?

"I'm fine," Skye pointed out, eyes on Fitz. "Nothing bad happened to me."

She exchanged a glance with Coulson and if Simmons hadn't been so caught up in her own pain she might have noticed that something passed between them.

"You said Raina has been working on perfecting the formula," May put in. "She may have solved the original problems it had."

"Or I can solve them," Simmons added, gaining back some of her confidence. "Please," she begged. "Let me try."

"You understand how dangerous this mission would be?" May inquired seriously. "You would be offering yourself up into Hydra's custody to double cross them. If they find out, they will kill you."

Simmons understood. If she failed they'd kill her and both Fitz and herself would be dead. If she succeeded though, she could save him. They would live together, or they would die together, the way it should have been in the med pod. None of this 'you're surviving and I'm not Jemma' nonsense. What Fitz had done for her was brave and selfless and, in a sad, horrible way, it had been beautiful, but she didn't want it. She wanted Fitz back and if she had to put her life on the line to get him she would.

"I have to try," she announced firmly.

"You aren't a very good liar," Triplett pointed out. He'd been a ghost up to this point, floating silently in the background of their raised voices. Simmons was ready to defend her position once again, to tell him that she'd find a way to work around her inaptitude, before he went on. "You want some advice? Try telling the truth, leave out the stuff that isn't. If you can."

He was on her side.

"Try to avoid talking if you don't need to," May added helpfully.

So was May, and Skye had been the one to help her come up with the plan, so that only left Coulson. She turned to him, questioning.

He gazed around at his team, processing the situation, then he nodded. "What exactly did you two have in mind?" he asked.

Simmons grinned and leapt forward, hugging him quickly before stepping back, both her and her leader slightly flustered by her sudden outburst.

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

"You're the one who's going to be doing all the work," he shrugged. "All I had to do was nod, it's pretty easy actually," he joked and the others smiled with him.

Skye and Simmons explained the plan to the rest of their team. It was as simple as it was risky. Simmons would be at Little Hill Park at the set meeting time and she would let herself be taken, she would do as Raina wanted and finish a working formula for the GH 325, but the others would be tracking her. They'd be using the odorless scent and tracking device she and Fitz had created.

"They wont know about it, we didn't have a chance to use it last time," Skye reminded them somberly.

She didn't add 'because something went horribly wrong,' but she flashed Simmons a worried glance as she spoke and she knew she was thinking it.

"You'll know where I am," she explained. "Give me five hours to come up with the solution, then come get me."

"We will," Coulson promised.

"Can you solve it in five hours?" May inquired, concerned.

"I think so," she told them apprehensively. "I don't want to be in there too long, they may catch onto the odorless scent or it might wear off, and I really don't want to have to stall too long either... that might become... awkward... very quickly."

"Very quickly," Skye kidded. "I've seen it happen. Just don't talk about the shape of people's heads OK?" She was joking but Simmons knew she was also nervous, scared for her, and she smiled encouragingly while borrowing Fitz's thumbs up. She needed to be like him now, to be brave and strong and determined, and she was. For Fitz, for the chance of saving him without hurting anyone else, of getting him back, she had the strength of a griffon.

Her team dropped her off a few blocks away from the park and before she left they all told her to be careful.

"Don't talk too much," Skye recommended, hand on her shoulder.

"Don't do anything reckless," Coulson ordered.

"If they ask, tell them you're there for Fitz," Triplett reminded her. "That's the truth so it should be easy."

"We'll be there in five hours," May promised.

"I'll be OK," she assured them resolutely. "I can do this."

She stepped out of the safety of the car into the open street and, after a final glance over her shoulder, she took a breath and walked into the enemy's clutches.

/-/-/

"Here, take my blood," Skye offered when she saw Simmons preparing her own arm for the needle. "That way you can work while it's being drawn."

She smiled wearily at her. "Thank you Skye."

They'd made it back to the Playground safely, though there was no sign of Raina and Simmons was glad she'd made the decision to finish the solution in her head rather than write it down. She wasn't sure what the woman would have done with it but she wasn't keen on finding out.

"Hey, whatever helps Fitz," Skye smiled back. "I've actually done this a few times, are you going to give me a cookie after?" she teased.

Simmons chuckled as she prepared the compound, they'd taken several samples from Raina's lab which she had been able to modify. "Of course, Fitz keeps a few behind the ethanol."

"Seriously?" Skye raised her eyebrows, disapproving but giggling.

"I know," Simmons groaned, rolling her eyes. "He thinks I don't know about it but one day I'm going to slip something in so he stops eating in the lab- harmless of course- just to surprise him. Maybe I'll cover them in vinegar."

It felt really, really good to talk about Fitz as if he were going to wake up, as if he were going to be breaking rules and eating cookies in the lab. Her heart fluttered excitedly. This was going to work, it was going to work and he would back, they'd have Fitz again.

She finished with the compound and took the vial of Skye's blood to suspend it in. Then she drew a small sample to inject into their injured rat. It had been dying, mortally wounded.

Within a minute it was back on its feet, scurrying around the cage as if nothing had happened, not in any pain at all.

Skye's grin was almost too wide for her face as they glanced ecstatically at each other. "Let's go wake up Fitz," she said.

/-/-/

"I know you don't like needles, but this will make you better," Simmons told Fitz softly, taking his arm, ready to inject it.

What Coulson had said, about wanting to die, crossed her mind as the tip hovered above Fitz's skin and even after all she'd been through to get the drug, she hesitated, afraid of hurting him, of doing irreparable damage.

She wouldn't though, the rat was fine, and if she backed out he'd be gone forever. He needed to come back, she needed him.

Simmons wasn't sure if it was out of selfishness or out of love or some combination of the two but, before she could change her mind, she carefully poked the needle through his skin and released the drug into his blood.

Then she sat down, took his one good hand and waited for him to squeeze her fingers or smile or, more likely, start choking on the tube, trying to breathe.

The others surrounded them, watching, but she was so focused on Fitz the room could have been empty.

'Wake up,' she thought insistantly. 'Please, wake up.'

Minutes passed and nothing changed. Why wasn't it working?

"Fitz?" she called quietly, searching his face for movement. "You need to wake up now love."

Nothing.

She placed a hand on his chest and shook him lightly. "Fitz?" She whispered.

He didn't stir.

Her chest tightened and her eyes grew hot, filled with tears that stuck to her eyelashes when she blinked.

No, this wasn't over, it had worked. It worked on the rat, it would work on him. He wasn't moving though, and it had almost been five minutes. Why wasn't he moving?

"Fitz!" she called forcefully, shaking his shoulders, desperate for him to wake up.

The monitor blipped, his heartbeat quickening as if he'd been startled and he started gagging, trying to breathe on his own.

An astonished nurse came forward to remove the tube from his throat and the second it was out he was coughing and struggling to sit up.

"What... the hell..." he choked, confused, grumpy even, but alright.

Simmons couldn't believe it, even after working so hard to make it happen it still seemed impossible that it had and she remained frozen, staring at him in amazement.

"What?" he exclaimed anxiously, picking up on the fact that every person in the room was gawking at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. "Why are you all staring at me like that? Oh God is there something wrong with my face? Did I sleep through the battle with Hydra? Where are we? Wha-"

He stopped as Simmons leaned forward, sailing across the spaces between them like a jet, and wrapped her arms around him, her whole body quaking with sobs of relief.

"Hey, hey what's wrong? What happened?" he asked softly, his hand soothingly running up and down the side of her spine. "Everyone's here so... so no one died right?" he guessed nervously and, though Simmons couldn't see his face, she suspected he was searching the room for answers from his team who had been stunned into silence.

She pulled back and took his face between her hands. It was so different from how it had been a few minutes ago, so alive, filled with bewilderment.

"No," she told him squeakily. "No one died, everything is OK now."

He met her eyes worriedly. "Why are you crying then?" he wondered.

"Because you're awake," she answered, beaming at him.

"Wha-" but he stopped again when she began kissing his face, every part of it and a few parts twice because she'd lost track of where she'd been. She skipped his lips, not wanting to confuse him further, not wanting to confuse herself. Those feelings could be sorted out later, right then she only wanted to bask in the glorious sunshine of his life.

When she finished she rested her forehead against his, their noses touching as she breathed him in. "I love you," she whispered, moving her head back to meet his gaze once more.

He smiled at her, radiating affection. "I love you too," he replied warmly. He took her hand and it seemed to dawn on him, what had happened. "I was hurt, wasn't I?"

His hand was still cold so she rubbed hers over it to warm it. "Yes," she informed him, voice low. "Do you remember?"

He shook his head. "No." Then his eyes caught sight of something on the side of her face and widened in alarm. "Jemma what happened?" he breathed, pointing at it.

She'd forgotten about the wound on her head, it didn't really hurt anymore and she was fine, so she hadn't been thinking about it, but it must still look awful.

"I'm OK," she assured him.

He remained concerned. "You're poor head, it doesn't hurt?" he checked. "How did that happen?"

"It doesn't hurt," she answered reassuringly, not yet ready to explain where it had come from.

The others had been slowly drifting towards them. Skye made it to his side and touched his arm, grinning at him before leaning down to wrap him in a tight hug.

"You're OK now," she assured him. "Thanks to Simmons."

Coulson and May each squeezed one of his feet, filled with joy and relief through their usual professionalism. Even Triplett, who had known Fitz only for a short while, beamed in his direction. The nurse watched with a small smile on his face, still looking lost but happy anyway. Simmons wondered briefly what Coulson was going to tell him before her thoughts returned to Fitz.

She reached out to touch his face, feeling his smile under he palm, making her laugh in delight. She'd need to run tests on him, draw some blood, check his heart rate, breathing, ensure he really was as healthy as he seemed.

"We called your mother," Skye remembered suddenly.

"What did you tell her?" Simmons asked apprehensively, turning to her as her hand fell from his face and her fingers tangled with Fitz's. He didn't seem to mind all the touching at all, instead he welcomed it effortlessly, gripping back. She wasn't sure if it was because he could see she had been distressed or if he was enjoying it. He smiled contently at her when she rubbed her thumb along the back of his hand and she thought it was probably both.

"Just that he was hurt," Skye explained. "I didn't want to tell her over the phone that he was..." she trailed off, glancing at Fitz and biting her lip.

Now he looked scared. "Jemma?" he whispered. "What happened to me?"

He deserved to know, however difficult it would be to explain, however painful to remember.

She took a breath. "You died," she began quietly.

His eyebrows rose, lost, and she faltered, another low sob escaping her. Why was this so hard? She'd saved him, she shouldn't be crying.

Fitz narrowed his eyes, gently sympathetic and understanding, and pulled her towards him, letting her lean on him while she explained what had happened. She felt him breathing, felt his voice vibrating when he asked questions, his hand moving in soothing circles on the side of her arm and found she was stronger for it. She'd done it. Against all odds, she'd gotten him back, and she knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever else tried to pull them apart, they'd be together because she was never letting him go.

/-/-/

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter left, I always like to put some fluff at the end and tie up some loose ends.
> 
> The Fringe references is the binocular-looking camera. Observers (bald men in grey suits who appear at important events) use these to take pictures of things. I figured SHIELD would have some futuristic camera stuff like that.
> 
> This chapter has the title of a fourth season episode called a Short Story About Love but it is the longest haha. I named it before I finished it.


	6. Safe

Simmons had fallen asleep on him and Fitz didn't know what to do. He wasn't sure if he should wake her and tell her to go to bed, or if he should allow to remain where she was.

He was perfectly fine with her remaining the way she was, even if it meant he'd be achy in the morning from lying all night in the same position. Her head rested on the top of his shoulder, her arm draped over his stomach and he could feel her soft breathing as well as hear it, could smell the sweet scent of her hair, and it was doing things to him it probably shouldn't be. It was making his insides crinkle and crawl in the best of ways but was somehow soothing at the same time.

The problem wasn't what he was feeling, it was what it meant, what it meant about how he felt about her. He was in love with her and, though he knew she loved him to Asgard and back, she wasn't in love with him. Probably not, maybe, he wasn't sure. His head spun and his heart hurt trying to sort it out and that wasn't even the only issue.

Poor Simmons was exhausted. She'd had a long few days with very little sleep and she'd been running around for the past several hours trying to make sure he was alright.

She'd drawn blood, listened to his heartbeat, checked his blood pressure, his reflexes, she'd even asked for a urine sample (eww... but she had been insistent so he'd given her one and she'd whisked it off to test it as if it wasn't strange at all to examine your friend's pee) and on top of all that she'd been testing out the drug on the rats again (using her own blood this time).

The new set of tests had gone horribly, the rats, she told him, squealed in pain for several minutes before staring off blankly. A few were gnawing at their own tails or biting at the wire of the cage until their teeth bled. The results had scared her more than they scared him, the rat who'd taken his batch was a healthy, normal rat. Something must have been off about the next one, he was fine, nothing hurt and he'd told her so about a thousand times before she believed him. He was doing better than she was now. While she still had that awful wound on the side of her head, all his injuries had healed, his cast had even been removed before his mother arrived.

His mum had been an exploding eruption of relief when she saw him, hugging him and crying the way Simmons had, but at least she didn't look at him like he was back from the dead. She hadn't known he'd been killed and so, shortly after she ensured that he was alright, she'd been herself again, telling stories and making him laugh (and calling him Monkey in front of his entire team, he was sure they were going to tease him about it forever).

She'd been sitting with him for most of the day, until Simmons was finished with her tests and came to join them.

Simmons was different with him, more affectionate than she usually was, quicker to touch his arm and taking his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do while watching cartoons. She'd even kissed the top of his head when she greeted him and he'd catch her staring at him every now and then, her eyes filled with a love he couldn't seem to define. He didn't know how she felt about him and he was too afraid to ask. Which was completely ridiculous because both of them had had the courage to risk their lives for each other and he knew that she'd stick with him no matter what she felt, the same way he would for her. They would always keep the bond they shared.

If he was honest, he didn't want to ask because he was scared the answer was going to be no, 'no Fitz, I'm not in love with you,' and he wasn't ready for the finality of it yet.

His mum had gone to bed around an hour ago. She'd kissed him goodnight and told him and Simmons not to stay up too late, then wandered off to the room she'd been assigned. She could only be at the Playground for a few days, then she'd have to go home because Coulson said it was too dangerous for her to stay and Fitz had agreed because the last thing he wanted was for something to happen to his mum.

Simmons had stayed, fighting off sleep.

"Go to bed," he'd urged. "You need your rest."

"No," she'd refused stubbornly, eyes dropping shut before she shook herself and they opened.

"Jemma-" he'd pleaded.

"I don't want to leave you," she'd admitted softly before turning bright, round eyes on him and he'd been instantly defeated.

"Come lie down then," he'd offered, shuffling over and she had. She'd rested her head on top of his shoulder and snuggled against him while they watched the cartoon canary being chased by the surprisingly determined black and white cat.

"That feels nice," she'd commented sleepily.

"What?" he'd chuckled, leaning his cheek on her forehead.

"When you laugh," she'd murmured, her voice like a hush of wind blowing out a candle as she fell asleep.

He wasn't sure if she'd meant to say it out loud but it swelled his heart wonderfully to think that he could make her happy simply by laughing.

Simmons didn't want to leave, she'd already said so, and she was finally sleeping after such a long time of tears and fear and stress that he didn't want to wake her. She seemed comfortable enough and he even managed to flip part of the blanket onto her to keep her warm. It exposed his legs but he didn't need it, he was the one who'd been dead a few hours ago but, thanks to her, he was completely healthy and now she was far more worn down than he was.

He was tired though, sleep would be nice, so he rested his cheek against the top of her head, lay his hand on her arm and closed his eyes, allowing himself to follow her into the world of dreams.

/-/-/

FitzSimmons were sleeping in his little room in the medical wing. Coulson had found them snuggled up together like a pair of otters and, smiling fondly, he'd thrown another blanket on top of Fitz's exposed legs. The nights in the Playground could be cold.

Then he'd left them to dream and made his way to the lab. Cloudy, the rat who had been injected with the GH 325 suspended in Skye's blood, was nibbling on his rat food like a healthy, happy rat.

The other three, the ones in the next cage who had been injected with the GH 325 suspended in Simmons' blood, weren't eating the rat food. Instead they'd flicked it out of their bowl and were arranging it on the floor of their cage in patterns, frighteningly familiar patterns.

Coulson knew a lot of things he had not shared with Simmons. He knew that Cloudy and Fitz were both healthy because what they had been given had been mixed with Skye's blood, he knew that the pattern the rats were creating meant something and he knew that the only difference between the batch used on cloudy and the batch used on them was the blood it had been mixed with.

Coulson knew that Skye was different, maybe not even human, (it was why he'd suggested she offer Simmons her blood) and something in Coulson himself had changed. If Fitz was Cloudy, he was the other three rats, making patterns they didn't understand yet.

He stood, debating how much he wanted Simmons, wanted his team, to know and decided he wasn't ready for this much so, one by one, he killed the second batch of rats.

He debated killing Cloudy too, but he realized that that would only cause Simmons to panic, do more testing, fight for answers. The happy little rat was proof that Fitz was going to be OK so he left it in place. Besides it had been easier to kill the other rats because he knew he was ending their suffering.

/-/-/

"Simmons I've got it," Fitz assured her, lifting the box of trinkets up the stairs to her bunk.

It was heavy but it would have been just as heavy for her and she realized she needed to stop treating him like he was spun from glass. Even if she was frightened that he was going to start hurting or disappear the same way the second batch of rats had. Where they had gone was a mystery but, because teleportation had not yet been proven, Simmons guessed they had escaped through the open hatch at the top of the cage. She was sure she had closed it but she'd been so tired she could have easily made a mistake.

They reached her room and set down their boxes.

"Thank you for your help," she smiled and he shrugged.

"I'm the only one who doesn't need to move back in," he reminded her. "All my things are already in my bunk."

"Well... not all of them," she corrected, reaching into her pocket to pull out the little monkey figurine she'd been keeping with her. She'd meant to give it back when he woke up but she'd been so busy and so distracted she'd forgotten about it.

"Agent Mittens?" Fitz grinned, accepting the figurine from her. "I thought he'd been kidnapped by Hydra."

"You thought Hydra took your toy monkey?" Simmons giggled.

"You never know what dastardly plans they have," he kidded. "He was with you?"

"I took him with me when I went to get the GH 325," she admitted.

His eyes clouded with concern at the mention of her dangerous mission and he reached out to touch her arm. "Simmons you didn't... I didn't want you to put yourself...," he seemed at a loss for words, and he sighed unhappily, gazing down at his feet.

She touched his cheek to draw his attention to her. "You didn't need to want me to or ask," she told him firmly. "I did it because I love you, because you're my best friend." His eyes shone as they stared into hers and she knew he had a question on the tip of his tongue, a question she wasn't prepared to answer yet so she smiled at him again and broke eye contact to sort through her things. "Oh, Violet Sedan Chair," she chirped, finding one of her old CDs. She plugged in her player and popped in the disk. "Would you mind?"

"Violet Sedan Chair Simmons?" he teased, sitting on her bed and watching her fondly. "If you want to, it's your room."

She hit play and the familiar tunes coloured the air and lightened the mood.

"If the seven suns are rising in front of me," she sang, pointing at him to continue and he shook his head, laughing so he missed the next line.

"Oh, C'mon Fitz," she pleaded, sitting beside him and continuing to sing. She wasn't going to be singing competitively but her voice sounded alright and she knew he could sing along. "Please."

"Fine, but only for you," he conceded cheerfully. "Don't tell Skye or she'll be trying to make me sing with her too and she puts all of us to shame."

"She does have a lovely voice," Simmons agreed.

"So do you," he added quickly and she chuckled at him, bopping their shoulders together affectionately, because she hadn't been worrying about the comparison.

The chorus began again.

"If the seven suns were rising in front of me," she began.

"And the seventh one stamps out the sea," he continued. They both wondered what sea the song was talking about. There were several.

They sang the rest of it together but Fitz forgot the words so he made them up as he went along, much to her amusement.

"So..." he said slowly when they had finished and she braced for the question again, the one she wasn't prepared to answer. "You brought agent Mittens on a mission with you, right?"

"Yes," she replied, pleasantly surprised.

"So that would mean you had a monkey assistant..." he continued.

She was trying not to smile, she didn't want to encourage him because she knew where he was going with this.

"And if you had one...," he reasoned, "well I mean it'd only be fair if-"

"No Fitz," she laughed. "We aren't getting you a monkey assistant."

"Yeah OK," he mumbled. "It would probably be too dangerous for the poor little guy anyway."

"At least agent Mittens is safe," she pointed out. "And so are we, you're safe with me," she promised.

"We're safe together," he vowed.

She smiled at him again glad he was with her, filling her life with golden rays of sunshine. Then she kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder.

It remained there as the next song began and they sang it together, safe and content because of their love for each other.

/-/-/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fringe Reference is the band Violet Sedan Chair. They are Walter's favourite band (and actually a real band) and in The Firefly he meets the the lead keyboardist (not the real one, a character played by the guy from back to the future). The song lyrics are from Google.
> 
> Agent Mittens is named so because he would need cute little mittens for his adorable little hands. :P (Fitz's logic)


End file.
